Even in the Quietest Moments
by Zendelai
Summary: Our deepest desires are revealed in our moments of greatest desperation. A birthday gift for my good friend Riri, featuring her Olivia Hawke.


"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!"

As the last bandit collapsed, one of Varric's bolts piercing his throat, Anders skidded on his knees on the grass to Olivia's side.

"Shit!" he repeated, his hands aimlessly patting over her wounded form, his eyes as wide as saucers in a state of fear unbecoming to such an experienced healer.

"Shit!" he cried out again, his voice cracking, as he finally spotted the wound that nearly unhinged him.

The dagger's hilt was simple and wooden, without decoration, the blade buried entirely into her right kidney. He brought himself close to it, studying its design, ensuring that it wasn't serrated; he hissed through his teeth and let out one more "shit!" when he smelled the poison that tainted it.

Refusing to leave her side as he watched her ragged breathing, he shouted, "Varric! My bag!"

It was a blessing that the shock had rendered her unconscious; it allowed him to swiftly extract the dagger, the smallest amount of relief flooding through him when he saw that it was neither rusted nor serrated. Immediately he covered the wound with his hands as blood began to gush out in unnatural droves, almost mahogany in its thickness, bubbles appearing between his fingers and seeping down the backs of his hands.

"Varric!" he cried out.

"I'm here, Blondie." Although Varric attempted a placating tone, Anders could hear the alarming fear in his smooth tones.

"Pour a healing potion down her throat," he instructed. He found that he was winded, although he had barely exerted himself in the battle.

It was Olivia who had done that, as she always did. It had been she who sprinted into battle, her delicate hands held high above her head as she summoned a storm upon the battlefield. She who insisted on being the first to an injured party member, even if just to ensure they had a health potion. She who ran herself ragged every day, never resting until the job was done.

It was she who had dove in front of Anders when that bloody bandit threw the dagger at him, she who had taken the hit instead of him.

Why in the name of the Maker had she done it?

Sebastian and Aveline trotted into view, undisguised expressions of fear on their faces when they spotted the blood flow from the wound.

"Anders-" Sebastian muttered, his Starkhaven burr strained with fear. Aveline began to sprint back into town in search of more guards to aid them, her armor clanking.

"Get me a lyrium potion," Anders snapped to the Prince. Closing his eyes, exerting himself completely, he pushed every ounce, every iota, of healing energy within himself into Hawke.

As exhausting as it was, her breaths were still coming in laboured gasps, and the blood coming out seemed ceaseless. Without requiring a command, Sebastian raised the lyrium potion to Anders' lips and he tilted his head back to accept the bitter liquid. "More," he grumbled when the bottle had emptied, as he sent pulse after pulse of energy into her. He shuddered as more bitter liquid found its way down his throat, guided by Sebastian.

He pushed more healing energy into her.

Every bone, every muscle, every sinew, every cell, ached from the effort, but he would never give up.

Never.

Although he was far from a religious man, as so many had done before him, he turned to the Maker and his bride for guidance at his time of need. _Maker, please save her. I need her to survive this. I need her laughter, her smile, her warmth, I..._

"Stay with me, Olivia," he begged in a whisper. "Please." Tears began to pool in his eyes and, with his hands occupied, slipped in streaks down his cheeks. "Please."

It is at our times of great weakness that our deepest desires are revealed.

Anders sat perched in a rocking chair beside Hawke's bed, his fingers laced together with his chin resting on his knuckles. He hadn't slept or eaten since their return to Kirkwall two days prior.

It had felt so simple then. Varric, Sebastian, Aveline, Hawke and himself had departed for the Wounded Coast at sunrise. They had been laughing and cajoling, and for the first time in far too long, Anders had felt carefree. No thoughts of templars and mages plagued him, and when Olivia shot him a small smile, he couldn't help but return it.

Of course, that was before they were jumped by bloody bandits with bloody poisoned daggers.

Varric appeared at the door, looking as worn as Anders felt.

Anders knew exactly why. They had all received their fair share of injuries in battle, Hawke more than all of them. Scrapes, bruises, more than a few broken bones.

Yet nothing like this.

Never like this.

"How's she doing, Blondie?" Varric whispered.

Anders closed his eyes, but the image of Hawke's dark blood seeping between his fingers remained imprinted in his thoughts.

If she died for him, he would never, _never_, forgive himself.

"The same," he choked out. "Her kidney's still shut down. She's bleeding internally. I-"

Varric interrupted him. "I can use my sources, get you any herbs that you need, get the best healer in the Free Marches here."

His eyes remaining closed, Anders held up a palm to silence Varric. "I've used every potion and herb in the book, and not to be a pompous ass but I _am _one of the best healers in the Free Marches." Varric snorted. "She needs time. Rest. And between you and I, a little help from the Maker wouldn't go amiss."

Varric swallowed. "It must be bad if you're asking the Maker for help."

He reached over to grab Olivia's hand. Luckily, it was warm without being hot; an infection hadn't set in, at least not yet.

"I'm desperate," he whispered, more to Hawke than Varric.

For as he had held his hands over her wound, praying to the Maker for the first time in decades, he had a moment of clarity. It wasn't the sort of clarity one found when discovering the solution to a difficult mathematical problem. It was stronger, more profound, something he had known all along but banished to the dark recesses of his mind, because he knew, he _knew_, that if her pursued this that he would be dooming her. Yet that knowledge didn't change the truth. Facts cannot change feelings. Perhaps he would be dragging Olivia down into the darkness with him, but Andraste's ass he didn't give a shit right now.

For he loved her, with every fibre of his being, and he couldn't live a life without telling her that.

Gripping her hand with as much firmness as he could muster, he sent another series of pulses of healing magic into Hawke's body.

_I love you, Olivia Hawke. I've always loved you. Don't fucking leave me._

It was a marvelous summer day, in spite of the stifling humidity that stuck clothing to skin and hair to heads like glue. The air was heavy with the scent of pine, grass, and a trace of something more floral. Madam Florian's throaty voice rang across her garden as she tended to the peppers, beans, and zucchini, vital ingredients for her town-wide famous stew.

Olivia and Bethany were hanging the freshly cleaned laundry, wiping the sweat off their brows as they worked. Although Messere Florian had warned Leandra that, with the excessive humidity, they were bound to have a storm that night, she had insisted on freshly laundering their best clothes for the "big day" tomorrow.

"Who would you rather kiss?" Beth was asking Olivia. "Jordan Leith or James Ogden?"

Olivia stuck her tongue out in disgust. "Neither! They're both vile."

"Don't be so harsh. Jordan isn't so bad in the right light."

"If you can ignore the boils." They laughed together, enjoying their rare moment of peace amid life on the run. Olivia caught Carver's eye, staring at his sisters disdainfully from the kitchen window, and she shot him a wink. He scowled and returned to his dishes, and she couldn't help but laugh again at her grumpy brother.

Their life in Lothering had provided the most peace the Hawke family had felt since the loss of their father.

Due to that calm, their guard was dropping. It was why Olivia had barely registered the black cloud heading their way from above Ostagar.

"Are you eager about tomorrow, sister?" she asked Bethany.

Seeing the faint smile crossing her sister's pretty features, she couldn't help but wonder if Bethany was hoping for a kiss from a certain someone tomorrow. "Well, I-"

Bethany's line of thought was interrupted by the sound of tens, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pairs of heavy boots, echoing off the trees in the distance. The house door flew open and slammed shut again as their mother stormed out.

"Grab only your weapons, nothing else." Leandra was panicked, breathless. "We must go. Now."

Olivia and Bethany's gazes met, the fear shimmering in the air between them.

"What's coming, mother?" Olivia managed to choke out through her restricted throat.

"It's the darkspawn."

Bethany, her dark waves framing her porcelain skin, her chocolate brown eyes staring lifelessly into the Darkspawn-tainted sky, that blighted ogre sucking out the most vibrant soul in Thedas.

Carver, his skin grey and ashen, his veins and arteries too dark, too prominent, his blue eyes lost into the ether, the fear in his stoic tone when Olivia sentenced him to a life in the Wardens.

Olivia's dark lashes fluttered open to reveal her brown eyes.

That had been the past.

She was in the present now.

But what had brought her here? To her bed? The satin sheets flowed across her skin like water, the hearth spreading both warmth and the overpowering smell of burning wood throughout the room. She reached up to rub her gummy eyelids and she let out a low grunt when the simple movement sent a stabbing pain through her right side. Her veins themselves seemed to burn, but the focus was in her front, close to her navel.

"Maker," she growled, trying to shift her weight, sending another agonizing stab throughout her.

"Olivia!"

Anders was here? She was relieved to hear his voice. He was seated in a chair by her bed, his eyes as gummy from sleep as hers felt with heavy bags beneath his amber orbs. He appeared pale and underfed. He was blinking rapidly, unexpectedly shocked to see her awake. Pushing his chair aside he tentatively slid onto the bed, hovering his hands over her body, and she could feel his magic resonate beneath her tender skin.

"How do you feel?" he asked. He was smiling broadly, happier than she had seen him in too long. He always appeared so worn, carrying the weight of all the mages in Thedas on his shoulders, and it was refreshing to see him ease the burden, at least for the moment. It made him appear younger, and frankly, more attractive.

"Sore," she responded honestly. She had learned early on that it did her no good to hide the truth from a healer.

His brows knit together. "You're going to need a lot of rest. I mean it."

Her memory fuzzy, she asked, "What happened?"

"You jumped in front of a poisoned blade aimed at me, you foolish woman," he snapped, with more frustration in his voice than he had originally intended. More softly, he inquired, "Why did you do that? You could have been killed. You nearly were."

"Better than having you killed," she responded, without hesitation. The revelation that the blade was poisoned explained the lingering ache throughout her body.

Maker save him from this woman. He couldn't hold back the smile that crossed his lips, though; it was so typical of her to resort to martyrdom.

He took her hand and kissed it tenderly. "You need your rest. No arguments. We'll discuss this more when you're well."

"But-"

"Rest!" He handed her a healing potion, which she drank quickly. He helped her adjust herself under the covers, tucking them tightly to her to keep her warm.

"Anders?" she asked groggily, sleep already threatening to overtake her.

"Yes?"

"Get some food and sleep. And... thank you."

Olivia's recovery was slow, but punctuated by a constant stream of visitors. Aveline scolded her, but did so with a smile; Varric crushed her with a hug, grumbling in her ear, "Don't do that again, Hawke,"; Sebastian smiled serenely, informing her that he had been praying every night and day for her swift recovery; Isabela gave her a strong kiss on the lips, shocking Olivia and leaving her blushing; Fenris grumbled at her to be more careful and to stop protecting abominations, but she could see the relief in his eyes; and Merrill rested a flower wreath on her head and kissed her cheek.

Throughout each of her companions' visits, Anders lingered in the background like the spirit which possessed him, providing her with both solace and protection.

Olivia couldn't help but feel that his concern was beyond that of a healer's.

Yet they had discussed this, she and him long ago. He had told her that he cared for her, but could not drag her into the life he had created for himself; the life of a possessed apostate mage.

She had argued, but he had not relented.

He had been the first man to call her beautiful, she had remembered. It was more than that, though; she could see the conviction in his eyes, the fact that he not only said that she was beautiful, but that he had _believed_ that she was.

Although she had respected his wishes, never had she forgotten that moment.

For even in the quietest moments, lying in bed waiting to enter the Fade, it was always Anders she thought of before she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

He was so kind, patient, and gentle through every aspect of her recovery, from first sitting up in bed to standing to walking to running.

As she grew stronger over the weeks, she felt it more and more: the dynamic between her and Anders had shifted. The air between them crackled with a fiery energy, and every time their eyes met, they would simultaneously avert them, blushing.

It wasn't until that evening at The Hanged Man that everything changed.

Anders stopped her outside the doors to the Hanged Man, a concerned hand resting on her shoulder. The heat from his grasp threatened to burn straight through her robes. "Are you certain you're ready? I'll take you home the moment you feel unwell, there is no need to feel ashamed. Although, medically, you're cleared to drink, I would-"

She silenced him with a smile and a finger to his lips. His concerns were unravelled by her touch, and he had to resist the urge to kiss the tip of her finger. "I feel as good - better, in fact - than before my injury. I _want _to go in there, I _want _to inevitably lose at Wicked Grace, and I _want_ a fair share of my whiskey."

He nodded slowly in acquiescence, because he couldn't help but agree with her. She had a healthy glow from her well-deserved rest, and she wore her favourite robes for the occasion: forest green, with intricate accents of gold that accentuated the pink in her lips. Those beautiful lips curved into a wider smile as their eyes met, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to lunge forward, crushing those lips beneath his own, kissing them until they went from pink to red.

_Do not lose sight of our goal, _Justice reminded him.

As he had grown accustomed to doing as of late, he completely ignored the spirit's warnings.

Her robes swirled at her feet when the door behind her swung open and Isabela stumbled out, a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in her hand.

"Hawke?" She slurred, her eyes wide. Hawke turned to Isabela and she threw her arms wide, sloshing whiskey over the front of her tunic-that-could-barely-be-considered-a-tunic. "Hawke!" She cried, as loud as Anders had ever heard her, and she threw her arms around Hawke, covering her with whiskey and ample breasts. Entirely ignoring Anders, Isabela pulled Hawke inside with one arm around her shoulders, babbling away about the happenings in her absence and demanding a round for the table on her tab to celebrate Hawke's return. Everyone stood to embrace Olivia when she entered, congratulating her on her recovery. To Anders' chagrin, Isabela kept her arm around Olivia's shoulder and slipped her onto the bench between herself and Fenris, of all people, who shot him a scowl for good measure.

"Deal me in next round," Olivia called to Varric. Anders took a seat across from her, between Merrill and Donnic, who was hand-in-hand with Aveline. Only Sebastian was absent, likely praying in lieu of drinking.

As the evening progressed, bottle after bottle of whiskey was emptied between the table's occupants, and more than a few silvers exchanged hands in many games of Wicked Grace. For the most part, however, everyone was fawning over Olivia, and she was basking in the attention, grateful to be reunited with her good friends.

Yet Anders couldn't help the twinge of jealousy at observing all the attention she was receiving.

It wasn't her fault, of course; she deserved every bit of love and attention these people had to offer. It felt foolish, really, but he missed healing her, having the excuse to spend so much time with her, being able to chase others away insisting that she needed rest. Sharing her with the others divided her attention, took away the feeling that he was special, made their forlorn glances a distant memory.

It was foolish, childish, and damnable to feel this way, to want this remarkable woman all to himself. He watched her laugh openly at something said by Varric, pounding her fist on the table while tears poured down her eyes before she reached across to throw her arms around him, still laughing.

Did they not all deserve her attention, obtaining it through their bizarre but undeniable loyalty?

So why did he want it all?

_You must push your feelings aside, _Justice rumbled. _Focus your efforts on our cause. _

Easy for you to say, he thought in response. You're a spirit, you haven't been in love.

_She is just, more than any of them. That does not mean that she will aid the cause of the mages. _

She would help if I asked. We don't need to shut her out. She's righteous, and just, and she's a mage, too.

_We must work alone. We have discussed this._

"Blondie?" Anders nearly jumped out of his skin when Varric's voice appeared behind him.

"Yes?" He responded, as calmly as he could muster. He had been so lost in his conversation with Justice he hadn't noticed that the women had stood to grab another round.

Olivia had a glow that encompassed the whole tavern with her arms crossed, leaning over the bar. Her blonde hair always seemed effortlessly wavy, her lips so luscious, her smile so warm that it could ease the temperament of even Fenris.

She was a flame, and those who surrounded her were moths, unable to resist her.

"You alright over here?" Varric asked. "If you scowl any more I might get you confused with our friend Broody."

"It's good having Hawke out and about again. I just worry about her health."

Varric raised a knowing brow. "Her health, eh? Not the fact that you need to share her again?"

Damn that dwarf. He could read all of them too easily. "I... she..." Anders' frown deepened. "There's a lot of action tonight. I don't want her to overexert herself."

"Is that so?" Varric chuckled. "If that's the case, why don't you offer to walk her home? It's dark and she'll welcome the company, I'm sure."

Maker, had it been so long since he had attempted to woo someone that he forgot to most basic tactics?

Did that mean that he _was _wooing Hawke?

He snuck another look at her, and the thought of holding her in his arms, kissing her, making love to her... it put his stomach into a series of tight knots.

For years he had cared for her, desired her and the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms after the few times he had been able to touch her to heal her. That thought alone had kept him awake for more nights than he would care to admit, like a hormonal teenager infatuated with his first love. He had been with dozens of men and women through his years, but none had affected him quite like Olivia Hawke.

Yet the greatest thing holding him back had always been the fear of himself, and of Justice.

Was it selfish to bring Olivia down with them? Yes.

But after seeing her not only on the brink of death, but on the brink of death so that she could save him and Justice?

Perhaps it hadn't been just her natural motherly instinct kicking in. Perhaps she cared about him the same way that he cared about her.

For one night, he would be selfish.

_Do not... _Justice began.

"Justice," he grumbled in a low voice. "Right now, I don't give a damn." He stood quickly from the table, the bench sliding behind him with a creak, and marched over to the bar, his brow set in determination.

Olivia respected the mage underground.

Truly, she did. She believed in everything that it stood for.

She was an apostate after all, as her father and sister had been.

But damn it to The Void, she wished that someone other than Anders was spearheading it, or at very least, that he'd let her help him.

Oh, what she would give to have a chance with Anders.

"We always want what we can't have, Kitten," Isabela would say when Olivia confided her feelings in her.

With Anders, it was so much more than that. It was his burning passion, for justice and for freedom. It was his kind soul, and his life's goal to help those in need. Andraste's ass, she even loved his love for cats.

His charm, good looks, and wit didn't hurt, either.

Her gaze fell as she had a fleeting moment of dreaming of a life with Anders. They would be on the run, no doubt, so they'd perhaps have a small farm where they could remain self-sustaining. Sure, they'd have half a dozen cats, but they'd also have a garden, fields, livestock, maybe even children if he wasn't entirely infertile from the Joining.

She watched Anders stand from his table, that familiar expression of sheer determination on his face.

She would give up all her gold, her mansion in Hightown, to have that life with him.

To her surprise he approached her, the determination being washed away to be replaced with a warm smile that set her core aflame.

"Hawke." Was his voice normally that deep? "I'd like a spot of fresh air and I was wondering if you'd care for me to walk you home? In case you've grown tired."

Olivia's wide eyes met Aveline's, who nodded imperceptibly. "I do think that Donnic and I should get back to the barracks, we're both on the early morning rotation."

Isabela chimed in, "Merrill and I are going to the Market tomorrow morning as well, so we'd be ready to call it a night."

A wide-eyed Merrill, filled with excitement and bewilderment, asked, "We are?"

"How could you forget our plans, Merrill? You're helping me buy new boots, remember?" She emphasized the last word, hoping that Merrill would catch on.

"Did I?" She frowned. "I'm terrible at remembering these things. I left Varric alone at the Hanged Man for two hours once. I'm an awful friend."

Isabela patted her shoulder. "Sometimes, Kitten, but we still love you. Anyways, Hawke, Anders, we'll see you tomorrow?" And with that they skittered off, leaving Olivia and Anders alone together, and she swore she could hear them giggling away as they retreated.

Olivia and Anders shrugged at each other and he lead her to the door, holding it open with an "after you".

It was unusually quiet in Lowtown once they shut out the noise of the tavern. The near blackness of the sky was dotted with a tapestry of endless bright stars. Some came together in groups, forming constellations, even brighter in their togetherness; others were illuminating in their solitude, lone soldiers standing true.

Her gaze towards the sky, Olivia commented idly, "When Beth and I were young, we used to make up our own names for the constellations."

Anders smiled at the thought of her in her youth. So carefree then, no weight on her brow. "Such as?"

"Animals, most likely, depending on their shape. Cat, dog, horse..." She laughed. "We were never what I would call creative." She sighed wistfully. "Don't you ever wish we could go up there? Into the stars? No templars, no mages, no bandits, no slavers... Just beauty."

He halted suddenly, his gaze fixed on her. "There is ugliness here, but there is much beauty, too."

Slowly she turned to face him; never before had anyone watched her so intently, and with such heat in their eyes. He looked like he simply wanted to devour her, every inch of her, right here in the street. "Right in front of me is the most beautiful woman in all of Kirkwall, in all of the Free Marches."

Her knees felt viscous. "Really?" She whispered.

One strong hand reached to grasp the back of her neck, both steadying her and pulling her closer. With all the conviction within him, he said, "Yes."

Although in that moment when both her mind and body were on a razor's edge and she knew what Anders was going to do, what she had wanted for two years, never was she prepared for how it would feel. With the hand on her neck he pulled her flush and his lips crashed against hers, firm yet yielding, his breath still smokey from the whiskey. His lips searched around hers, hungry for a taste of every part of her, and he pulled her lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it gently. His hand around her neck squeezed tighter, needing more of her, and her hands slid up his sides, searching for purchase until she plunged them in his hair. He increased the pressure on her lips until he ran his tongue along them, requesting more, and her lips parted with a gasp to let him in. Their tongues danced until they were both hot and breathless, as well as slightly disbelieving that they had ended up where they were.

"Maker," Olivia whispered, touching her lips in disbelief.

Anders thought she looked so lovely with her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen. He kissed her once more, briefly this time, before pulling away in full.

"Maker," she whispered again.

"Olivia." For the first time since their kiss their eyes met, and his were like molten lava. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that for?"

She giggled, and the sound was so light and airy it was like the first deep inhale after being submerged in water.

"Too long," he continued. "You are, in short, the most magnificent woman that I've ever met. I've been a blind fool for too long by keeping myself away from you, and if it's agreeable with you, I'd like to make amends to that."

She giggled again. "I would gladly accept that."

He leaned down to kiss each of her eyelids, followed by her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally, her luscious lips. "I want to show you love." His kisses wandered to her jaw and down her neck; she felt her chest flush at the contact.

"Show me?" Her voice fluttered in anticipation. He grasped her hips and pressed her soft curves flush against him. His lips found her collarbone and he traced it with a teeth, eliciting a gasp from her wondrous mouth.

She had never been with anyone before. She had kissed a few boys, even let one touch her breast, but never had anyone drawn her attention but Anders nor had anyone expressed interest in her the way that Anders did.

Maker, never in all her years did she want anything as badly as she wanted Anders in that moment.

It was inherently selfish to pull him away from his goals within the mage underground, and to pull him away from his healing, even for one night. But, Maker damn it all, she would take this one night, for herself, for Anders, and make it theirs.

She felt his tongue reach along the shell of her ear, and his husky voice sent a shiver down her spine. "I love you, Olivia Hawke. Let me show you. Let me make you mine."

Those words reduced her to a pool, and she felt the onset of heat between her legs. "Please," she breathed. "I love you, Anders. I have for years. Make me yours."

Grabbing her by the thighs, he lifted her off her feet and pushed her against a wall, her legs wrapping around his hips. He kissed her, deeper, wanting more but being unable to wait until they reached her mansion. She opened her mouth to gasp and his lips travelled down her jaw, throat, and collarbone.

They halted quickly when they heard voices nearing them, a reminder that they were far from alone out in the street regardless of the time of night, and Anders lowered Olivia back onto her feet. She had a stunning pink flush from her cheeks down her neck, and Anders had to resist the urge to kiss the warmed skin.

"Shall we go to my place?" she asked, feigning casualness, while unable to keep the grin off of her face. She closed her eyes when he stroked her cheek with his thumb and said, "Please."

During the walk home, nervousness lead to silence. Anders had been with so many, while Olivia had been with none. What if she did a bad job? What if he hated it? What if she made a mistake? The light feeling that had been in her stomach since their kiss was replaced by a heaviness.

Sensing that something wasn't right, Anders asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes!" she responded quickly, but her voice was so high pitched that she knew he would see right through her. "Just a bit nervous," she admitted with a downcast gaze.

"Olivia." He stopped her again. He was smiling at her, and it made the crinkles appear beside his eyes in such a way that it erased years of worry from his face. "I'm with you. It'll be wonderful." And he knew it. She must have sensed his conviction, for the line between her brows vanished and she smiled back at him. He took her hand in his and they resumed their walk to the Hawke mansion undisturbed.

The moment they entered the mansion's ornate doors, Anders had her pushed against the nearest wall before she could even get her boots off. When he pulled away she giggled, "Anders."

His voice muffled by his face buried in her hair, he teased, "Is your foyer not romantic enough?"

She giggled again and retorted, "I just don't think I could stand the shame if my mother caught us."

Wide-eyed in mock abashment, he asked, "Are you ashamed of me?"

Horrified, she quickly responded, "Maker, no! I-"

"Olivia Hawke, you are trouble." Tickling her sides, he chased the laughing Olivia up her stairs until they reached her bedroom. He swung the door open and slid her in behind him, planting a kiss on her sweet lips for good measure.

Orana had already done them the kindness of lighting candles before Hawke's return home, and the soft lighting emphasizes the beauty of her features. "Maker, Olivia, you're so beautiful." He kissed her once more, already becoming addicted to her taste. "Come with me." He wrapped his fingers around hers and lead her to the bed, lying her down on her back and climbing atop her. She gazed up lovingly at him, happier than she could remember being since before the loss of her Bethany.

"Take off your pauldrons," she directed. He undid the clasp and slipped them off his shoulder, tossing them on the floor. His shoulders were more broad than she expected, and she enjoyed it as she ran her hands across them. "May I remove your tunic?" she asked, immediately blushing at the question. Maker, did she usually blush this often?

"Of course," he responded, smiling at her. "You don't need to ask, my love."

_My love. _The words were as sweet as the gentle kisses he scattered across her neck. She pulled him close to cover his lips in hers and her hands founds his waist, slowly pulling the tunic up, marvelling at the hardened muscles beneath taunt skin. He shivered beneath her touch and she wanted nothing more than to feel that shiver again, over and over. Releasing his lips she pulled his tunic overhead and shamelessly roamed her gaze over his form. he was truly in excellent shape. "You've been hiding behind your pauldrons!" she teased, and she rolled herself on top of him to kiss and touch every inch of exposed skin.

He reveled in the feel of her gentle fingertips and kisses as she lavished him. It had been so long since a lover had taken their time with him. She paused when she reached his drawers and licked her lips, suddenly eager for what was beneath. He groaned as she began to undo the laces, his hardness straining painfully against his breeches. He felt so close to losing control, and they had just gotten started.

Swallowing, she pulled down his breeches and smallclothes. She knew what to do; she had read Varric and Isabela's dirty novels. She began to kiss up his legs, feeling him wiggle and twitch beneath her.

She couldn't hold in the audible gasp that escaped her when she finally set her eyes on his hard manhood. It was... beautiful wasn't the right word. Magnificent, perhaps? It was a dramatic, but suitable, description.

Her voice dropping a register, she whispered, "Anders..." She reached out to grasp his manhood, holding it 'like a firm banana' as Isabela would say.

"You don't have to," he began, but she insisted huskily, "I want to."

He arched his back as she stroked him, slowly. He cried aloud in surprised when she lowered her mouth onto him, first kissing him before taking him into her hot and moist mouth.

"Stop," he gasped after only a few moments. How had she managed to bring him this close to the edge so quickly?

Olivia stopped and gazed at him, wide eyed, concerned that she had done something he disliked. "Did I-" she began quietly, not sure how to articulate herself.

"Andraste's flaming knickers, Olivia, that was amazing! If you keep going, I won't..." He couldn't help but laugh. "I would like for it to be your turn now, my love."

Her swollen lips formed an 'O' of understanding, and the sight sent a rush of blood through Anders as he remembered what that mouth had just done.

Urgently but tenderly, he grasped her hips and rolled himself on top of her, gazing into her brown eyes that darted between his, curious. This moment of anticipation was one he always treasured, more so with Olivia than ever.

His practiced hands found the hem of her tunic and lifted it overhead, never leaving her darkening eyes.

His kissed down her tender neck and sharp collarbones, devouring the rounded edges of her perky breasts. She lifted her back to allow him to remove her breast band and he dove between them like a starved man, feeling every inch with his lips, feeling her heart pound beneath his mouth.

His mouth travelled down her stomach, leaving a trail from his hot breath, her breath coming in rapid flutters of need. He paused at her waistline, raking her breeches with his teeth, affording him the scent of the musky sweetness they covered. Her name was a prayer from his lips as, using his teeth, he pulled them down, opening her like a package, until she lay bare before him. Her curves were soft but his hands felt the unyielding muscles beneath, and there were more scars than he would've liked, a fierce reminder of the danger she put herself in every day.

His lips found each of these scars, caressing them, as if his lips could possess the same healing powers as his hands. Eternally the explorer, her searched over every inch of her with his mouth, finally settling at her core, feeling her muscles tighten as his tongue plunged inside of her. His tongue worked her in slow circles, the pressure of it increasing as he grew harder and harder with an almost desperate need for her. He spared a glance at her to find her flushed red, drops of perspiration between her brows and breasts, her long nails gripping the sheets.

His resolve crumbling, he clambered onto his hands and knees to hover above her, the smile coming from her so full of trust. "I'm going to go slow," he insisted. "Tell me right away if I hurt you."

She nodded emphatically. "I want this, Anders," she reminded him, kissing him. "I want you."

At her comforting words, he nuzzled into her neck and prodded against her wet opening, sliding inside her as slowly as he could muster. It was both agonizing and unbelievably pleasurable to want so much more, her walls were so wet and tight. She clenched her teeth and sucked through them as he plunged fully inside of her, yet no word of protest escaped and the knot between her brows loosened as he began to slide in and out.

Like an ocean they swayed together, slowly, patiently, the woes of the world never farther away. No longer were they two mages against the world; they were one, a unit, a team, and Anders - and, for the space of an instant, Justice - knew that nothing could be more powerful of a force.

"Please," Olivia stuttered, every muscle coiled, every nerve on end. Her core was a flame awaiting its opportunity to burst free and engulf her. She ground her hips into Anders, desperate to release the fire within her, and he responded in kind, increasing his pace until his stowed seed was spilling freely into her and she was crying out, too, as the waves of pleasure rolled through her body until she felt like a field, plowed and barren at the end of harvest.

Still gasping for breath, Anders cleaned them both off with a cloth before lying beside her, pulling her in close, breathing in her scent so he could become as familiar with it as possible.

"I love you, Olivia," he whispered into her ear, never tiring of saying it.

"I love you, Anders," she whispered back, never tiring of hearing it.

As he began to slip away to meet her in the Fade, he briefly registered that Justice was pleased.

Very pleased.


End file.
